Disclaimer:

Hello, it is I, Kristyn, who does not own The Maze Runner. I'll have an order of Thomas Sangster and a side of Dylan O'Brien, and could you please sprinkle some Ki Hong Lee in there, too?

-✼-

Believe it or not, I was getting very bored. I sat through almost an hour of Minho drawing Maps in the Map Room and showing us more Maps and then talking about how the walls moved, hence the Maps and Maps, Maps, Maps. I was sure that word was ruined for me forever. I started keeping a mental tally every time he said the word. So far, it was at thirty-seven.

In the Map Room, I sat there, eyes unfocused and barely catching snippets of what Minho was explaining. His voice faded in and out of focus at random. The walls changed every night. They drew pictures of what they saw every day. Each Runner was assigned to one of eight Sections.

I just hoped I was a good artist.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Minho said, "Let's go runnin'."

"Oh my God," I groaned, tossing my head back and releasing a huge sigh, relieved that I would no longer be cramped up in that room. "Finally!"

"Shut the shuck up and follow me," Minho ordered with a roll of his eyes. We exited the Map Room, Minho locked the door with his gigantic key ring, and we set off in the direction of the West Door. It was already open, the opening leading to a view of twisting stone walls and the endless turns beyond. That meant that the other Runners were gone, and we were terribly late.

Thomas and I followed Minho through Section Eight and down several corridors, keeping a quick yet easy pace. I was amazed at how Minho knew exactly where to go and barely seemed to think about it. I breathed steadily, swinging my arms with open hands to diffuse any cramps that might come. Air puffed out of my cheeks as my legs moved quickly, and it wasn't until we made it to a rectangular cut in a wall half an hour later that I realized I was lagging.

"Hey," I gasped, watching as Thomas sprinted to keep up with Minho, "can you slow down a bit?"

My small legs had to move twice as fast as the boys', meaning it was taking twice the effort and working up twice the sweat. I also noticed with dismay that I definitely did not have as much endurance as I previously thought, and my muscles were starting to burn the tiniest bit.

"This leads from Section Eight — the middle left square — to Section One — the top left square," Minho explained effortlessly. "Like I said, the passage is always in the same spot, but the route here might be a little different."

I had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe I should've paid attention in the Map Room.

As we reached the end of the passage, Minho thankfully slowed to barely more than a walk and whipped out a notepad and pencil from a side pocket in his backpack. He quickly jotted a note, then put them back, not once fully stopping.

"I rely...mostly on memory," Minho informed, his voice finally showing a hint of fatigue. "But about every fifth turn, I write something down to help me later. Mostly just related to stuff from yesterday— what's different today. Then I can use yesterday's Map to make today's. Easy-peasy."

"Yeah," I mumbled under uneven breaths. "Easy-peasy."

Thomas heard me and nudged my arm with his elbow. He had a playful smile on his face, slick with sweat. "Lemon-squeezy."

I glared at him. "Shut up" — I paused for air — "you're annoying."

We continued for a short while more until an intersection appeared. Of the three possible choices, Minho chose the one to the right without hesitation. As he did, he pulled out his knife and scraped off a chunk of ivy from the wall. He tossed it to the ground and kept running.

"Bread crumbs?" Thomas questioned.

"Bread crumbs," Minho confirmed. "I'm Hansel, you're Gretel."

"I can't believe I'm third-wheeling with my brother and his boyfriend," I grumbled, half-amused.

At every turn, Minho sliced some ivy off the wall and dropped it. I noticed with suspicion that before his knife penetrated the plant, the ivy was perfectly intact. If he did this every day, shouldn't there have been patches missing?

"All right," Minho said, breathing heavier now, but not as badly as me. I sounded like a dying horse. "Your turn, Dylan."

I tried to suppress my shock, but ended up tripping over my own two feet anyway. "W-What?"

"Cut the ivy— you gotta get used to doing it on the run. We pick 'em up as we come back, or kick 'em to the side."

"Uh, in case you forgot, I have no knife," I pointed out. Minho took out his own and handed it to me. A shiver ran down my spine. "No thanks."

"Dylan, I swear to God, stop being a baby and take the shucking knife," Minho commanded harshly, his voice like venom. I flinched, then reached out with a shaking hand and took the weapon from him. The handle was smooth and the point sharp. My eyes flickered to the scar on Thomas's hand, and images of that day flashed in my mind. I shook my head to rid of them and took a deep, controlled breath. I could do this.

I could not do this.

It was difficult for me to cut the ivy, and each time I did, I had to sprint hard to catch up with the boys. My fingers were cut and bleeding. But soon I got better, and by my tenth attempt — yes, I was counting — I managed to not be so terrible. And by that, I mean I stopped cutting up my hands.

After about three miles, Minho stopped altogether. "Break time." He swung off his pack and took out water and an apple.

I tried to disguise how heavily I was panting, my legs screaming and burning as I sat down. My bloody hands took out the water, and I gulped a couple of swallows down before using a bit to clean my hands. I then took out the apple and bit into it, closing my eyes and feeling content as the sweet juice filled my mouth.

Thomas and Minho discussed the "dead" Griever from our first days in the Glade, while I focused on finishing my snack and tending to my wounded hands.

And suddenly Minho was standing, swinging his backpack over his shoulders all ready to go, and I realized I had zoned again. I stood, placing my water back into my own pack and then shouldering it.

After a few more confusing comments about the Griever who attacked Alby, Minho turned and started running. It took me by surprise, but I didn't think twice and followed after him.

I was starting the think that maybe the Runner life was not the life meant for me.

-/-

For two more hours, Thomas and I sprinted our butts off behind Minho, and I was just about ready to give up. Beads of sweat sprinkled my forehead and caused my shirt to stick to my back, which was gross. I was in such bad shape compared to the other two that it was almost funny. Too bad I didn't have any breath in me to laugh.

I was gasping for air as Minho stopped again and pulled off his backpack. We sat on the ground with our backs against the ivy-covered walls, none of us saying much. I savored every bite of my sandwich, seeing as that apple had already been burned off from all the constant moving.

"Anything different today?" Thomas questioned.

Minho patted the pack where his notes were. "Just the usual wall movements. Nothing to get your skinny butt excited about."

After a pause of him drinking his water, Thomas asked, "What's the deal with those Beetle Blades?"

I always wondered about them, too. "And why wicked?"

"Never been able to catch one." Minho closed his lunch box and put it away. "And we don't know what the word means— probably just something to scare us. But they have to be spies. For them. Only thing we can reckon."

"Who is them anyway?" Thomas asked. "Anybody have a clue?"

"Thomas," I said, "If anybody had a clue, we'd probably have more answers around here, don't you think?"

Minho's face turned a bit red, and not the way his face was already flushed from running. "Can't wait to rip their—"

Before he could finish, Thomas was on his feet and across the corridor. "What's that?"

My eye caught a dull glimmer of gray behind the ivy, and I stood up. I pushed apart the plant just as Minho said, "Oh, that."

A square of metal was riveted in the stone with big letters stamped across it. Thomas's fingers ran across them lightly.

WORLD IN CATASTROPHE: KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT

My eyebrows creased and I wiped away a bead of sweat that almost went into my eye. The words made no sense. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know, shank," Minho replied, sounding annoyed. "They're all over the place, built like freaking labels for the nice pretty Maze they built. I quit bothering to look at them a long time ago."

Thomas's lips pulled into a frown. "Not much here sounds very good. Catastrophe. Killzone. Experiment. Real nice."

An hour later, Minho stopped at a dead end. "Time to go back."

That's seriously it? I wondered mentally. All that running only to reach a dead-end and run back. I would be doing this every day. Fun.

Thomas sucked in a breath, sounding disappointed. "Nothing new?"

"Just the usual changes to the way we got here— day's half over." Minho's face held no emotion as he glanced at his watch. "Gotta go back." Without any warning whatsoever, he turned, pushed past me, and set off in a run back to where we came from.

I groaned, grudgingly following.

"But—" Thomas tried when we caught up.

"Just shut it, dude," Minho sighed. "Remember what I said earlier— can't take any chances. Plus, think about it. You really think there's an exit anywhere? A secret trapdoor or something?"

A memory of the Cliff popped into my mind, of how the Grievers disappeared from sight and we couldn't see them fall. Maybe we could look more into that. I'd ask Minho later when he was in a better mood.

But something told me that if Thomas continued with his mountain of questions, that opportunity wasn't going to swing around anytime soon.

"Sweet victory!" I cried when we reached the Glade. I dropped to my knees and felt the grass with my hands, breathing heavily and really just wanting a shower.

"Not so fast, Dylan." Minho pulled me up by my shirt and set me back on my feet. "Now we gotta go draw some Maps."

I stifled a groan and treaded after him and Thomas to the Map Room, where we wrote up the day's route and compared it to yesterday's.

"Here," Minho said as he handed Thomas and I each paper and a sharpened pencil. "Draw what you remember. Use the other Map to help you."

I cringed. All I remembered was me feeling like death the entire time. But I took a chance and sketched various walls with ivy and several dark corridors. Then I leaned back and realized with disappointment that it looked absolutely horrible.

"What the shuck is this?" Minho asked mockingly, picking up my drawing and examining it. "This looks like Gally. Doesn't it, Thomas?"

He turned the paper to my brother, who glanced up from his own Map to look at mine. He squinted, then nodded. "I see it. I don't know how, but I see it."

I buried my face in my hands, feeling my face heat up, half from embarrassment and half from anger as I listened to them make fun of my drawing. Minho wouldn't stop laughing and pointing out all its flaws. Once it became too much, I stood up quickly, feeling stormy and my face hot. "I tried my best," I growled, then left, slamming the door of the Map Room behind me.

I stomped to the Kitchens, grabbed my food, and slumped down at a table. Stabbing angrily at the food, I barely noticed as someone set their plate down next to me and sat. I glanced to my left and saw Theo, but didn't say anything as I was too busy drowning in anger.

"So how was your first day of training?" he asked, taking a bite of chicken.

"Don't wanna talk about it," I replied as I continued stabbing my meal. Over and over again I jammed my fork into the meat, increasing my speed and force until Theo's calloused hand covered mine and forced me to stop.

"Dylan, people are staring," he whispered, carefully letting go.

I kept my eyes on my food. "Let them." My hand squeezed the cutlery until my skin turned white.

"Are you okay?" Theo asked worriedly.

I sighed, rubbing my face. "No. I just...I don't know. Being a Runner is not what I thought it would be, and if I hear the word 'Map' one more time I am literally going to scream like a Banshee."

Theo smirked, and I gave him my sharpest and most deadly glare, raising a challenging eyebrow. He wouldn't dare.

I watched as his lips parted to speak, his face still holding that stupid, knowing smile. "Mapa."

My voice dropped to a hiss as I scowled deeply. "I hate you."

He shrugged, jabbing his vegetables with his fork. "I didn't say it. I said 'mapa.'"

"That literally means...the word in Spanish," I argued, taking a bite of my food instead of torturing it.

"Still didn't say it."

gif is behind the scenes thominho and who doesn't love that?

_________

*theo voice* santo cielo! ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE THOUSAND READS WHAT IS THIS WTF THANK YOU??!!!

honestly the chapter in the book was so boring it physically pained me, so i tried to cut most of it up.

also, what do you think dylan's going to do about running? do you think she'll stick with it?

dedicated to princess_sparkles911 bc she literally read this whole book in a day wowza

~kristyn